 | II. Julian, or Scenes in Judea |  |
2. II.
I said, my mother, that I would write
again so soon as new events had happened.
That necessity presented itself immediately
upon my sending to you the letter which I last
wrote, — if those may by called new events
which are to be witnessed, not so much in
saparate acts or occurrences, as in the ripening
of the time toward some general and final
issue. Such seems to me to be the condition
of Cæsarea. Large numbers of the people
indeed, both Jews and Greeks, are little
concerned by this quarrel with the Governor,
being wholly engrossed by the expected games,
either preparing to attend them with every
circumstance of display, or to receive into their
dwellings as visitors during their continuance,
the friends and kinsfolk who make it their five
years' custom to assemble at Cæsarea at this
great festival. But greater numbers, however,
although together with the rest they look forward
to the games with pleasure, and to the
entertainment of both friends and strangers, are
of which I have already given you some
account. The games may occupy their hands,
but other interests, hopes, and fears are busy at
their hearts. Especially is this the case with
the Jewish portion of the population. No one
would dream that less than an empire were at
hazard, to judge by the demeanor of this
people. In truth they seem to me at all times a
solemn tribe; and this feature of their general
character is darkened to a gloom like that of
night, by the present aspect of their affairs.
Their motion through the street is slow and
cautious, with eyes cast down, or talking with
one another in low and secret tones — turning
continually with sudden movement the head to
this side and that, as if expecting instantly the
blow of an assassin, or the insult of a Greek.
I confess myself amused not a little as I watch
them. But if this is so with the Jews generally
— or rather with the more zealous portion
of them — how much more is it true of so
fierce a spirit as Philip. Not the dark Casca
nor the lean Cassius ever carried in their eyes
what so threatened States with ruin and revolt.
Although I cannot but judge his cause in the
main a right one, yet can I not work up myself
to his pitch of fury; but, on the contrary,
do what in me lies, partly by reason, and partly
mind. My success has been much
such as it would have been, had I essayed to
stem the northern tide as it rushes in at the
open mouth of the Port, making colossal Rome
and Asia to tremble on their bases.
On the morning of the day which preceded
the opening of the games, and which was to
witness the hearing of the Jewish deputation
before Pilate, the air being close and oppressive,
I sought the cooler walks of the Garden, and
reaching the little arbor of which I have spoken,
took out my tablets and wrote. I had been
not long thus engrossed, when I was interrupted
by the sudden entrance of Anna, with
a countenance more than usually expressive of
anxiety. She seated herself near me, saying,
as she did so, “I have come seeking you, and
am glad to have found you here, and yet I
hardly know why I have come, and I fear lest
I deprive you of time that you need for more
important objects.” I assured her that I was
performing no duty of more importance than
writing to my mother, and that her own name
was the last from my pen; of what I had said concerning
her I could not inform her; it was, however,
no evil report, she might well believe. But
what, I asked, was it which disturbed her, for her
countenance spoke of some new alarm. “It is
I fear, in which you will think you can serve
us, and I hardly can say why I apply to you —
yet you have inspired us with a strange confidence,
and we think that because you are from
Rome, while still you are of our own race, you
will judge of our affairs more justly than we
can do, who are so near, that everything
appears of perhaps an unnatural size and interest.
In a word, my mother begs you, and I
join her in the entreaty, to use whatever power
you may possess, to moderate the zeal of Philip,
and hold him back from aspiring to be a leader
in these affairs. I, alas, can do nothing; for
no sooner does he appear with that face of his,
and his burning words, than I am straightway
kindled with his ardor, and grow as hot as
he.” I told her, “that what she had now
asked of me, I had already of my own mind
attempted, but with no good effect whatever.
Philip will take no counsellor to his bosom,
beside his own impatient spirit, and Simon,
who, good as he is, is mad as Philip himself.”
“Mad! — Julian? Oh, not quite mad” —
“My dear Anna, you cannot yourself bear
the whole truth.”
“I will try — now say on — you must forgive
me.”
“Take, however, Anna, all that I would
in his impetuosity and haste; not wholly in
the great purposes which he cherishes. I blame
him not that he is restive, as a Jew, beneath
Roman oppression, such as I now see it with
my own eyes to be. I can with him scorn
the base spirits who, with new submissions,
are waiting to purchase the forbearance of the
Governor. Were I a born Jew of Cæsarea,
I would with Philip be a Jew in the full possession
and enjoyment of my rights, or I would
renounce together my faith and my country.
A Jew, with the name only, is one who, with
wonderful folly invites insult from the whole
world, while from that which brings this universal
contempt upon his head, he derives
neither profit nor pleasure. In this, Anna, I
speak the words of experience. I would not
that Philip should be the fool that I have
been. You will be glad to know, in respect to
myself, that in the few days I have been here, I
have lived years, and that the Demon who has so
long possessed me is departing. I am become a
Jew in feeling, at least, as well as in name.
Henceforward, if I am still to bear reproach, it
shall not be for nought. Such at least is the resolve
of to-day. You now cannot doubt that I am
on Philip's side, that with him I would fight
for the fair rights and the honored name.” —
“Ah! how I bless you,” cried Anna with
glowing cheeks, “for these words. You then
think with Philip, that he is right” —
“But you came to me, Anna, did you not,
that I might oppose him?” She answered
nothing, but only covered her face with her
hands.
“I think Philip to be both right and wrong,”
I then continued, “as, you would see yourself,
if you would reflect one moment. In his principles
and general purpose, he is right, so I
judge; in his present action, he is wrong. He
is over hasty. He will but inflame both the
Governor and the Greeks to visit upon your part
of the population some new violence, while he
is in no condition to resist them, or take the
least advantage of the contest that may ensue.
He can display all the courage and spirit of one
who is ready to perish for his rights; but I fear
— to suffer — will be all that he can achieve.
Do you not feel that it is so?”
“I do believe it,” she answered. “It is my
constant thought when alone; but the presence
of my brother drives it away. Where he is I
can only feel. I am never myself but by halves.
Wisdom, I fear, I shall never reach.”
“Wisdom, Anna, is not for so young as you.
I am older by many years than you, yet I have
not so much as come in sight of it. What I
but I know not if it be so. I can only say that
I think as I do now. I pretend not to know.
It is a new thing for me to be appealed to for
counsel, who have hitherto been myself a dependant
upon others.”
“As I said these words, steps rapidly approached,
and Philip entered the little building
where we sat. His countenance expressed a
mind disturbed and angry.”
“How now, Philip,” said Anna, “what new
evil have you to report with that ill-boding
brow? Surely Pilate refuses not to hear us?”
“No, my sister, it is not that, — but worse.
Pilate refuses not to hear. But we refuse to be
heard. Digest that.”
“How, Philip, can that be? Was it not in
full assembly of our people, that the five hundred
were deputed once more to wait upon the
Governor? Who can have revoked that decree
but the people themselves? And they have not
done it.”
“The decree hath not been revoked, and the
five hundred proceed this day to the judgment
seat of Pilate, but with their tongues cut out
and their hands bound.”
“Speak not in riddles, Philip — what is it?”
“It is true, Anna, as I have said, we go with
our tongues out, and our hands bound. —
but — whom think you? Sylleus!” —
“Our tongues are out indeed,” exclaimed his
sister; “whose bad work has it been?”
“Of all — save a sacred few. And now,
may —”
“Nay, Philip, swear not,” said Anna, and
laid her hand across his mouth. He thrust it
rudely from him, and again began his usual
oath; but his affection for his sister obtained the
mastery, and he suddenly paused, kissed her
cheek, and asked her forgiveness. The kiss put
to flight all her remaining resolutions of moderation,
and changed her for the moment to but
the counterpart of himself.
“It might indeed, then,” she cried, “as well
be that we were heard not at all. A Roman is
as good a Jew as that unbelieving Sadducee —
our Julian here were a better.”
“Who, I pray you,” I then asked, “is this
Sylleus that it so inflames you he should fill
this office?”
“Have you not heard of him?” said Philip.
“But I forget you are but newly come to Cæsarea.
Sylleus leads the Herodians; and what
with their own numbers, and the faint-hearted
among us of the stricter sort, it has been an
easy victory to place him at the head of this
embassy. I ought not in reason mayhap to
cannot but feel it, for it brings us bound hand
and foot, to bide the will of Pilate. Peace, not
truth and right, is the watch-word with these
slaves with souls less in bigness than a grain of
mustard-seed, or the point of a needle, who
would, like their true ancestor, sell their birthright
for a mess of pottage. Surely, now-a-days
there can be no shame like that of being
a Jew — apostates all — hypocrites and slaves.”
So did he run on, full of violence till he had
spent himself, and exhausted his stores of a
proud and indignant passion. I could not but
honor the feelings from which it all came,
growing up, as they did, from that deep root of
religious reverence, which, planted in his youth,
had been duly nurtured, till it had spread
throughout his whole nature, and drew everything
to itself. Still I was sufficiently conscious
that his was a virtue in its excess — in such
excess that it was changed almost to a vice.
His religion seemed to me little more, or better,
than a blind and dangerous superstition. I
dared to say to him a part of what I thought.
I said, “that, according to my belief, he would
gain more, by a more moderate course of action
— that the laws of his own faith would be better
observed, not to speak of a true policy, by
conduct which should exhibit signs of patience
yield a little, for the sake of peace; especially
when so to yield was not to surrender anything
that could be called a principle, or a point of
faith; but was only bending for a time before
the force of circumstances. I too would have
him to be a Jew, and that not in name only,
but in every act of his life, and purpose of his
soul; but I would have him consider whether
by a too violent and passionate demeanor, he
did not, in truth, do a more treasonable act toward
his religion and nation, than by one of
more calmness. Pilate, surrounded by his soldiers,
was not easily to be turned from his
course, nor were the Greeks so few, or so weak,
as to be deterred from what they had undertaken
by any show of opposition, which, so far
as I could judge, it was in the power of the
Jews to make. It truly seemed to me, that for
the present, at least, the affairs of his people
would prosper more in the hands of Sylleus,
than in those of Simon.”
Philip listened as I spoke, and without those
vehement exclamations of wonder or contempt,
with which he is accustomed to interrupt those
who utter opinions contrary to his own. But I
could see by the fixed and grave expression of
his countenance, no muscle moving, that he
heeded, no more than the marble seat on which
he sat, the words he had heard.
“The Law,” said he, “given of God to our
Fathers, is no human instrument, it is no fabric
wrought by the hands of men to be altered at
our pleasure, or winked out of sight at our will
or convenience. It is the law of the God of
Moses, and therefore wholly right, and to be
obeyed and honored by those who receive
it, in the spirit and in the letter, by the observance
of its rites, by the keeping of its festivals,
by the reverence of its Sabbaths, by the
payment of its tythes — by the worship of him
who founded it, and the hatred of those who
would subvert it. The proper Jew is one who
not only loves, but hates. The measure of contempt,
that is by other nations served out to
him, he returns heaped up and running over.
The Jew's bond of allegiance to the Jew is not
a more binding one, than that which leagues
him in everlasting hatred against the gentile.
Our ancestors, who with the besom of extermination
and death swept the land of their inheritance
of its accursed tribes, and spared
neither the sucking child, nor the tender maid,
nor the hoary head, are an example unto us of
our day, how we should deal with any, who
shall dare to set up their rest on the consecrated
soil of this kingdom, not of man, but of God.
“And even as he of old was but a traitor, an
apostate, and a rebel, who held back his hand
devoted, — the Amorite and the Hittite and the
Perizite, even so is he who doth the same now.
The idolatrous Canaanite of our day is the Roman
and the Greek. The hand of God will
ever be against us, till by the hand of those
who love his law they be driven from the land,
where their presence is as blasting and mildew.
“I have waited, Roman, for such a day as this,
and now it is come I hail it, and give God
thanks. I dare not disobey the voice that
sounds in my ear. As for Pilate and his legions,
I care for them no more than for the chaff driven
of the wind. I and the few who are with me
may fall a sacrifice before that altar, on which
the servants of the Most Hight have ever freely
offered up themselves. But, if for the present
— it will not always be in vain. Others, and
other times shall reap the harvest.”
“Such consequences may ensue,” I replied,
“it cannot be gainsaid. The least events, so
esteemed once, have proved nothing less than
the corner stone of changes which have amazed
the world. But no eye can discern the possibility
of aught but suffering and death, in a
revolt like this, without concert and without
preparation. You will only furnish fresh victims
to the cruelty of Pilate.”
“For myself,” answered Philip, “I am ready
nor unavenged.”
“But suppose, Philip, your fall should drag
down also to the same ruin — mother and sister.
There is little mercy, they say, in Pilate's heart.”
Philip's stern countenance relaxed, and he gazed
fondly upon Anna, who taking his hand and
forgetful of everything but him, said, “let no
fear, my brother, lest a little flower should perchance
be trodden into the dust, lay restraint
upon thy spirit. When God and Judea call, go
on thy way, let perish what will that shall be
under thy feet.”
To say anything more I perceived to be
worse than useless. We rose from our seats and
in silence wound our way together to the house.
At the ninth hour the deputation was to wait
upon the governor. Philip soon left us to join
his friends in their consultations; I did not accompany
him, as he desired and urged me to do,
but answered him I should be present at the
hearing before the governor; in the mean time
I should walk forth and observe the temper and
behavior of the people.
I accordingly took my way toward the
principal part of the city which as yet I had
scarcely seen. I was surprised, as I proceeded,
by its extent, and the signs of wealth and taste
even, in the forms of edifices, in the width of
The buildings of the city most remarkable for
the costliness of their materials, for the observance
of the best rules of Roman and Grecian
art in their structure, for the grandeur of their
parts, and the spaciousness of the grounds about
them, are those which were erected by Herod
the Great. As I have before said, I believe,
they were built in too great haste to be built
well, and there are everywhere to be discerned
signs of weakness and decay; but they everywhere
also give abundant evidence in their
forms, proportions, and general elegance of design,
that the mind that projected them had
been well instructed in the best science of the
capital of the world. Everything in a word is
here Roman or Greek; nothing Jewish. Even
the synagogues, although they are here as everywhere
of peculiar form, indicating thereby to
whom and what they belong, are yet both in
the structure of the outer walls, of the inner
porches, and the central edifice itself with its
columns and roof, altogether conformable to the
principles of Roman models. And truly, except
the taste in such things had been borrowed from
Rome, it is easy to believe there would have
been but little to be witnessed among this people;
for it must be confessed, my mother, that
whatever portions of undoubted truth they may
somewhat rude and barbarous. They possess,
it cannot be denied, that which is most valuable;
yet were it desirable also that they had
added some of the graces and refinements of
life, which give so real a beauty to the Italian
and Grecian cities and provinces. A little while
since and I should not have lamented this,
though I might have noted it. Now I sincerely
deplore it, as it tends to deprive them of the
estimation among the rest of mankind which is
justly their due. A virtuous man loses his
power, if his countenance and manner wear not
an accordant expression. And so truth methinks,
religious as well as every other that is of worth,
should be clothed with beauty. That can
hardly be pure truth which shocks and offends
by its ugliness. It is adulterate.
But of all the edifices, which adorn the
city, the Palace of Herod, and now the abode
of our Governor, is the most conspicuous for its
vastness and richness. It would not be mean
in Rome. As I stood contemplating it, little
heeding those in the street who were passing
and repassing me, a voice at my side addressed
me;—
“I perceive, Sir, that you are a stranger by
the manner in which you examine an object,
which to us who dwell here is old and familiar.
generosity and public spirit of the Great Herod;
truly called the Great. He was too great to be
hemmed in by the boundaries of Judaism; and
though born a Hebrew aimed to be as much a
Greek, and by Hercules, a Roman too, as well
as a Greek. Pardon my freedom. But having
little else to do, I am at your service to give
you any information you may desire. I am
thankful to him who can procure me occupation.
Though dressed in the Roman fashion,
yet, Sir, I perceive you are a Jew. But that
need make no difference; I am a Greek, it is
true, as you on your part may see; and you
may suppose not unreasonably that I hold a
Jew in small esteem, seeing how things go in
Cæsarea; but, Sir, I consider man first — afterwards
only whether he be Jew, Greek, or
Roman. What think you?”
I was so rejoiced that the noise he had made
at length ceased, that, though inwardly I fear
I used him hardly, I complimented him on the
last sentiment he had uttered, and told him “I
thought it worthy of a philosopher, which he
seemed to be.”
“Truly I flatter myself,” he replied, “I am
somewhat of a lover of wisdom, but to say sooth,
it is not always so easy to distinguish wisdom
from folly, even as it is not so easy sometimes
wisdom, but I often doubt whether I do not
hit folly, and be not a fool.”
I could not help thinking that he had arrived
at one wise conclusion, and turned to depart;
but he was not to be so easily shaken off;
he followed, and continued to pour forth a
stream of talk, by turns wise and absurd, but
always rapid and noisy. He commented upon
every building we passed remarkable for its
beauty or its purpose, and named to me every
citizen we met, Jew, or Greek, informing me
as to his condition, affairs, office, or wealth.
As we came before the devoted Synagogue
in our walk, it furnished him with an inexhaustible
theme. He said “that not Pilate
himself knew better what would happen than
he. Nay, not so well; for Pilate knows not at
once his own mind; but the Greeks know
theirs, and that it will be no impossible thing
to force it upon the Governor. And before a
few days are passed, Sir, these walls will lie
level with the pavement. This cannot be
agreeable to you Jews. It is always an evil
to belong to the weaker party; but then you
know the philosophic virtue of submission to
what is inevitable. I trust your people will
manifest their wisdom in a timely and politic
acquiescence.”
I asked my unavoidable companion, how he
could feel so sure of Pilate's determination,
especially as he was to hear the Jews again to
day, by some of their people who were more
inclined to accommodation.
“Human nature, Sir, human nature,” — was
his reply; “who knows not the Greeks? and
who knows not Pilate? Prophecy is often
nothing more than a shrewd judgment. The
wise know what shall come to pass, from what
already is, and has been. I confess, I see everything
that shall be these few coming days with
the same plainness as if it had already happened.
There will be sad uproar, believe me.”
I said, “I hoped not.”
“Ah yes,” he rejoined, “it is a good thing
to hope; but one hopes less as he grows older
and wiser. I know a few things, but I hope
in nothing. — A fair day to you, most worthy
Cataphilus,” cried my companion suddenly to
one who passed, gaily and richly dressed,
“How is it with your great master to day?
I trust he is in health.”
“He is well,” replied the other, “but he is
closely shut up with despatches from the Emperor
— Excuse my haste” — my companion
was about to lay hold upon a fold of his robe —
“I will say that Zeno inquired for his welfare;”
and forced himself away. —
“That man,” said my new friend, “is ever
in a hurry; he is, you must be informed,
Pilate's chief steward, and knows many things,
if one could but get them out. But it is just
so with all in this noisy place. I can scarce
find a man who will allow me more than a few
words, ere he must perforce be off to keep some
appointment. It was not so in Athens. There,
one could find a few who would give you an
hour or so in the markets, or at the corner of a
street, or at the bath. But here, great Jupiter,
I surely deem that a pot of Tyrian dye, or a
bale of Egyptian cotton is held to be of more
value than would be a discourse from Plato,
and a merchant more honored than a philosopher.
But that Cataphilus, whom we just met,
as I was saying, he has a master, and that
master is Pilate, and Pilate has a master, who
is Tiberius. Those despatches from Rome,
I trow, give him some trouble. He stands,
I doubt, on slippery ground. But this in your
ear. We Greeks make use of him, but we
esteem him not any more than you Jews.
Now, my young Hebrew, we approach the market,
and a sight it is, I assure you; there behold!
That too was the work of Herod.
Few things in Athens are finer.”
It was a noble structure indeed; and the
whole scene was imposing and grand, owing
who thronged the streets and squares. We
stood where we had paused, observing and
admiring, till being too much jostled and
incommoded by the swift moving currents of
passengers, we withdrew a few paces to the
steps of a portico, where we could see and converse
without interruption. As we thus stood
here, and Zeno enlarged with volubility upon
the various objects before us, our attention was
suddenly arrested by the loud tone of a voice
commencing its prayers in the Hebrew tongue.
I turned to the quarter whence the sound proceeded,
and just within an arch of the Portico
hardly separated from the street, there stood a
Jew with face uplifted, and hands spread out,
uttering at the top of his voice his noon-day
prayers; his eyes were so turned up as to give
him the appearance of one in an agony, and his
voice seemed to come forth from the passages
of his nose rather than from those of the
mouth. So distorted was his whole countenance
by the sanctimonious expression he had
assumed, that I did not at first recognise my
companion on board the vessel. But as soon
as I had made the discovery, I asked the Greek,
who the person might be who was so diligent
and noisy at his devotions. Zeno was amazed
at my ignorance.
“What,” said he, “hast thou been but a day
in Cæsarea, and hast thou not heard of Ben-Ezra,
the holiest Jew in all the city, the very
head of the Pharisees, and with the common
people of more sway than either Simon or
Eleazer? Daily as the shadow of yonder dial
falls upon the sixth hour, may this trumpet
tongue be heard in the market of Cæsarea; a
proclamation of holy zeal to the fools who
cannot see, though they have eyes — of false
and vain pretence to those who know how to
use the eyes God has given them. See, his
worshippers are gathering to listen. Such
prayers never reach the gods. Perhaps it is
not meant they should. They are answered in
the effect they have upon these asses who are
crowding round with their long ears erect.
Let us away. This voice puts to flight my
philosophy.”
So we passed on and mingled in the thickest
of the throng of buyers and sellers — now in
greater multitudes than usual, owing to the
games. With almost all the affair of the
synagogue was the subject of conjecture or
dispute; and from very few did I hear a word
of encouragement for the poor Jew. All sorts
of opprobrious language was poured forth upon
our unhappy people, and prophecies freely
a few more days should pass.
“You see how it is, my little Jew,” cried
Zeno, as we turned away from some of these,
“there is no hope for you. The gods have
decreed your defeat, and you are defeated.
Better trouble thyself no more about it. Accompany
me to the Amphitheatre to view the
preparations that are going on, and leave your
bewildered countrymen to Pilate. Be assured
he will take care of them.”
I made him comprehend at length, after
repeated attempts to avert the flow of his Greek,
that I was too much interested in the fate of
my countrymen and friends to be absent on
such an occasion. He took leave of me with
reluctance, but not till he had learned where
and with whom I dwelt, and had promised to
bestow upon me more of his company.
I returned to the house of Sameas. Anna
and her mother I found employed in domestic
affairs; wherefore I withdrew to my apartment,
and gave myself even a higher pleasure than
their society could have imparted, by conversing
through my pen with you, my mother. But
the time has come when it behoves me to repair
to the Hall of Pilate, that I may not lose
what shall there take place between the Greek
and the Jew before the Roman Judge.
| II. Julian, or Scenes in Judea | |